I bought this at Gay’s Guitar Studio in Moultrie Ga, about 1975. Clayton (Gay) let me and a good friend (George Garcia) take 3 instruments to the back room so I could determine which I wanted. I don’t recall the 3rd model, but one was a Gibson Hummingbird. I don’t recall but I suspect that […]

Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” – Albert Einstein “Everything you see or hear or experience in any way at all is specific to you. You create a universe by perceiving it, so everything in the universe you perceive is specific to you.” – Douglas Adams I am a big fan […]

Bundle (slang), pack, package, packet, deck, budget, parcel, bale, truss, roll, rouleau, bolt, fagot, fascine, quiver, bouquet, nosegay, posy, dress (I will go into this one especially as I make patterns as a vocation). And that wheel portion of a pulley, or block (combining two of the 6 simple machines). Middle English sheve, akin to […]

My garage after I made the mounted work shelves, the stand alone work bench, that corner contraption, and then the cabinets (mostly from odds-n-end pieces of wood). It stopped where that long vertical cabinet is, then wife said “I wished it went all the way to the wall” so I added another, called […]

here is what I found from that trip. I had others, but these were the best so maybe I didn’t keep them. I have been to Europe several times, and never did the usual touristy stuph 🙂 On the road to Andorra. Lleida is a town in northern Spain. I stopped in Lleida to buy […]

1st Journal- probably notebook papers, which ultimately were not kept. Much later on a trip to Spain I bought a spiral notebook which multi colored sections. I did write very detailed into them.
Deeply held beliefs: that it is difficult for me to start, to do, to ‘get down to it’. My internal editor kicks in way too much. Even before I start.

“She does not come into the basement; she may wait at the top of the stairs. The chill stays there, you walk through it and it follows you, up the other staircase and into the hall. The upper hall and staircase is her favorite place. Not sure what is the basement’s affect on her. I do not know what she is attached to. I am told it is me. But she plays, sometimes to the point of annoyance (she means no harm, best I can tell). She is hurting, longing, and I do not know how to help. I would if I did know. So I am good with her here and she has a place to stay.” I have much to do. Maybe she can help, or guide, or inspire. A muse? She is not doing her job is she is a muse. Well, not all the time. But I do welcome any musing I can get. I certainly need it.

Today I write. I write for me. I write for future me. I write for the reader who stumbles upon the prose, poetry, puns and pining. I just tweeted that last sentence and it felt good. A sign that I am leaving the slinging, the wasteful, the fruitless grasping? This posting will be a blog onto itself? I do not know, but I will post it, or at least, most of it. I

will find a picture to go with it (one of my own). I will start a blog of progress, of learning, of preparing. Preparing the exit strategy. I plan to clear out much of my stuff so others will not have to do it. I doubt they would do it, just haul a dumpster to the front and load it up. A sad commentary to one’s life work, one’s life hobbies, one’s interest.

I admit the interests have changed over the years. I think they should change. One should grow, learn, move on. And sometimes rediscover what was before, Revisit.

Drawing is a good example. Seems we draw as children. Abandon drawing as adults, then at a point past middle age we start back with drawing. Or painting. Or paint our drawings.

And we want someone to view it, to comment on it. We really want praise. No, we want acceptance. Acceptance is a universal desire. We don’t always get it. Sometimes it hurts to not get it. Some then withdraw. Then we feel not good enough. Not talented.

Talent comes in varying levels; we cannot all be super artists. But I believe we each have a skill we find, or cultivate. One that can carry us through life. I fear not everyone really finds what it is. Even washing dishes, a seemingly mundane endeavor, can be a skill.

A therapy.

Start with the smaller, and usually cleanest of dirty dishes (it prevents the water from collecting greasy elements). Turn them over on drain board. Work your way up to the heavier and more likely dirtier dishes. Then the pots and pans. They cup nicely on the previous drain board visitors as they all dry naturally. A dish washer does away with all that. It is part of society’s inclination to ignore or muffle the quiet little voice. The one which is there to guide us.

May that voice ring out. May that voice offer guidance. May that voice speak to us.

But more, may we listen to it.

All this inspiration came from the movie “Sylvia”, about Sylvia Plath, the writer poet who lived with depression, hoping someone would accept her. Not just someone in her case, but someone she loved. And wanted.

A sad ending.

But sad is part of life. Sad is the balance of happy.

Ending is the balance of beginning.

Do we control the ending? We did not control the beginning. At least not on this side of the barrier. Consequently I really do not think we should control the ending. But can we even?

We are here for a reason, for a job. We will be here until our job is finished.

We may not however learn the lessons set before us. This is where return comes in. All that experience. What learning we do master (master? nah). Does not go to waste.

Like growing and changing and improving between the two markers (that we all see) of the barrier, we must surely grow, learn, change, evolve and … improve in the larger scheme of things.

BirdHouse, one with nailed roof, the other uses screws. Screws tend to pull the roof tighter, true of most woodworking construction.

Little wooden latch with screw hinges to allow side to swing out (these were made with opening on the right hand side. Also though it may be difficult to see the climb on inside to the 1 1/2″ round opening is scratched along the path to give the nestlings a means to climb out. 1 1/2″ is good for many birds. If one just wanted to cater to wrens (and keep their meaner cousins out) drill a 1 1/4″ hole:

Ah, the precision life of an apparel pattern maker, all these are identical (though they didn’t have to be):

Bottom is mitered all four side for both drainage and ventilation:

Does woodworking and sewing go hand-n-hand? 🙂

Blue birds and Woodpeckers could (and should) use their own design:

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Just let me know what you’d like (type of wood, hole size, varity) – more later!

A forest clearing cathedral straight out of “The Red Badge of Courage”, minus the Union soldier, and more peaceful. A place of rest. Rest among those he knows, a place he returned after adventures out west. Something drew him back, There is a story here. He left some family in Arkansas. His business interests spread out in Georgia, a far cry from the farmer of eastern North Carolina.

A story to be discovered. Or to be written. Or a little of both.

Forest Clearing Cathedral

In Memory of

Wiley Taylor

Born Sept 1814

Died June 16, 1891

Though Thou Art Gone

Fond Memory Clings to Thee

King Cemetery

Gibbs here too

Old Georgia flag

I was trespassing 🙂

Walking back into the modern world, a modern cemetary. It doesn’t hold the cathedral air (for me)

the current owner of the King Cemetery works to keep GA Power at bay regarding their desires vs. the family plot